


Glow

by Aisalynn



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 11:15:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aisalynn/pseuds/Aisalynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose and the Doctor visit Rockefeller center during the holiday season.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glow

She wanted to go to New York City.

He asked her why, when they could go anywhere in the world, anywhere in the _universe_ , did she want to spend a day in modern times New York and she grinned, pink, glossed lips spread over white teeth, tongue peeking out the corner of her mouth and said, “Best shopping on that side of the Atlantic, yeah?”

He rolled his eyes, but set the coordinates, picking the perfect time for them to visit. If she wanted to see New York City, then he would show her New York City at its best.

She laughed with delight when they stepped outside, breath showing up as puffs of white in the cold night air. The light from the decorations lit up her features, revealing flushed skin and dark eyes alight with excitement, and it clung to her hair so the blonde turned gold, weaving and bouncing through the wind beaten strands until it almost seemed the light came _from_ her rather than _to_ her.

She was glowing, brighter than the humongous Christmas tree she was craning her neck to see.

He reached down to grab her hand, interlacing glove covered fingers with his own and bent down to mutter in her ear, “It takes thirty thousand bulbs to light that tree up, you know. Thirty thousand.” She shifted her wide-eyed gaze from the tree to him, still grinning, and he swore he could see all thirty thousand reflected in her eyes.

They walked through the shops when he refused to ice-skate, her gloved hand still firmly in his and he regretted the cold weather because he missed the feel of her skin against his. Though, he thought, seeing that flush from the cold along her cheekbones might be worth it. They stopped in a large shopping center, watching the line of excited children as they took their turn on Santa’s lap, innocent eyes wide and awed as they tugged on the white beard and whispered their heart’s desire. She swung their joined hands back and forth as they watched and told him of the time she stopped believing. She laughed when she told the story, but her eyes were sad and he got the sudden impression of years of not-quite-good Christmases, of holidays without fathers, trees without presents and not so cheerful dinners with only her and Jackie to celebrate.

He shouldn’t care so much, he thought, that her smile turned wistful when she looked at a family of three, two parents tugging a little girl away from Santa’s chair, smiling as she babbled on about what she asked for. But this was Rose, and it didn’t take much to get a few specifics from her that he committed to memory, plan already in mind.

Red bicycle. Twelve years old.  
  
She insisted on drinking hot chocolate when they got back to the TARDIS. To go with the season, she’d said, smile light and carefree once again, and she laughed when he handed her hers, whipped cream piled high, complete with a bright cherry perched precariously on the top. “Very domestic of you,” she teased and he gave a small grunt before taking a sip his own.

He was careful not to let the TARDIS wake her when she was asleep, taking more care with the landing than he usually did. It was easy to find the small red bicycle she had described in so much detail and he told himself that it really wasn’t too big of a thing to change. Never mind that it was a bad a idea to change the timeline of someone who’s future had already changed thanks to him, that by doing this he would be tempted to break his own rule of not seeing companions before their time with him. It was a small thing, really: red bicycle, twelve years old.

He could feel the subtle shift of time as he quietly rolled the bike next to the tree in her flat, the change of emotions and reactions through the years. He could feel the change in his mind as a memory morphed to fit with new actions, new words.

__

“It’s embarrassing, really.” She laughed, swinging their joined hands back and forth as they watched the line of kids. “I believed in Santa Clause until I was almost fifteen.” She blushed at the admission, but her smile was wide and carefree, eyes bright.

He smiled in satisfaction and almost turned to go out (before the temptation to peek on a twelve year old Rose became too great for him) when he noticed that the lights on the tree--not a real tree, but a plastic one, with squashed looking garlands and homemade ornaments--were out. He bent closer, and with a little use of the sonic screwdriver found the broken bulb and fixed it.

He stood back to look at the effect, liking the way the light gleamed off the glossy red paint of the bicycle, imagining the look of confusion on Jackie’s face when she found it here the next morning, the look of excitement and delight on Rose’s when she rushed to it, golden light weaving and bouncing through her hair.

A small thing, really, this change in the past.


End file.
